


Thorns

by CaffeinatedMoose



Series: Bangs and Fic Events [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Champagne, Construction Paper Valentines Card, Dead Roses, F/M, M/M, Panties, Wincest - Freeform, valentines day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 05:39:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3517469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaffeinatedMoose/pseuds/CaffeinatedMoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finalist in the February Wincest Supernatural Monthly Challenge!</p><p>On Valentines Day, a year after Sam jumped into Hell, Dean is living with Lisa and rediscovers some old memories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thorns

**Author's Note:**

> First, a big thanks to my friend Arronaut, for beta-ing and helping me brainstorm when I got stuck. <3 The title of the story is for her.
> 
> Check out the Supernatural Monthly Challenge on tumblr!  
> http://spnmonthlychallenge.tumblr.com/

(Banner by ArchOfImagine)

 

 _It was so hot. So dry._  
  
_Dean opened his eyes and all he could see was darkness. He began to walk forward, and slowly the scenery took shape around him. He was walking the same stone corridors as he’d seen when he was down below._  
  
_He felt a sense of urgency, and as he walked, he began to hear screaming up ahead. He heard the clanging of metal, and the roar of fire, and Sam’s screams. He began to smell blood and burning flesh and piss and other bodily fluids. It burned his nostrils._  
  
_Dean broke into a sprint, sliding on God knows what as he made turns down the mazelike halls towards where Sam’s strangled cries grew louder and louder._  
  
_“Sam! Where are you?!”_  
  
_Up ahead, a response was shouted. “Deaaann!” And then his lover’s voice broke into more howled sounds of pain._  
  
_After what seemed like hours of running, Dean burst out into a large cavern. In front of him, Sam was strapped down to some kind of medical chair, his arms and legs spread and chained away from his body. Standing over him was the Devil himself, sharp implements in each hand. Dean froze and nearly tumbled to the ground in shock. His Sam was bleeding everywhere, nails and daggers dug deep into his skin at odd angles. He was missing chunks of flesh. His limbs were twisted, appearing to be bruised and broken. And his eyes. Those beautiful eyes. They were gouged out, blood streaked down Sam’s face. He looked like he should be dead from that much blood loss, but as Lucifer shoved a glowing red-hot knife into Sam’s ribs, he screeched in pain and thrashed against his bonds, which only caused more stress to his broken bones._  
  
_“GET AWAY FROM MY BROTHER YOU SICK SON OF A BITCH!”_  
  
_Dean rushed towards the table, however he never seemed to get any closer. The Devil just turned and smiled as he twisted the blade in Sam’s side. “You’ll never save him Dean.”_  
  
_Sam’s broken cries ratcheted impossibly higher, now twisting his head around to listen for his brother’s voice. “Dean? Deaaaann! Please stop him! Deaan!”_  
  
_The scene rushed away from him even more quickly, no matter how fast Dean ran, until it had disappeared from his sight, and all he could hear was Sam’s screams_.  
  
\----  
  
   
Suddenly, Sam’s cries morphed into a woman’s voice, and he felt himself being shaken awake. “Dean, wake up!” His first response was to struggle, which caused the person holding him to back off. “Dean, relax! Its me, Lisa. You’re home, you’re safe.” He blinked slowly, Lisa’s worried face coming into focus. She brought her hand hesitantly up to his cheek. “Hey, are you okay? You’ve been having more nightmares lately.”  
   
Dean took a slow, shaky breath and forcibly composed himself, taking her hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m fine. Just a dream.” Lisa nodded, not entirely convinced, but she wouldn’t push it. She knew he wouldn’t talk about his past even if she asked. He gave her a reassuring smile, and she met him for a kiss before crawling out of bed. “I’ll start the coffee.”  
   
When Dean finally made his way downstairs, after pulling on some sweatpants and a t-shirt, the smell of fresh cooked breakfast filled the air. A plate of pancakes, eggs and bacon was paired with steaming coffee. The pancakes were suspiciously heart shaped. It was then that Dean realized what day it was.  
   
Dean paused with a hand on the chair, chewing at his lower lip while he watched Lisa cook the rest of the pancakes. “Lisa…you know I can’t…” When she looked up in confusion, he looked pointedly at the pancakes on his plate, his gaze somewhere between touched and tormented. He wanted to be grateful for her home cooked meal, to push back his emotions and be happy with her, but he just couldn’t do Valentine’s Day anymore.  
   
When he was young and single, he used to call it Unattached Drifter Christmas. Then, when he settled into traveling with Sam again, and after his brother’s romanticized pestering that it was a special day for couples, it became something special between them. Now that Sam was gone, he couldn’t think of the holiday the same way. It was just another corporate sales day for those whose soul mate wasn’t dead.  
   
Lisa sighed and pushed the heart shaped pancakes onto her own plate. “Sorry. I forgot. I’ll make you some new ones.” Dean tried to protest that she didn’t have to, but she had already turned back to the stove to pour some regular oval pancakes onto the griddle.  
   
Just then, Ben came thundering down the stairs, eyes lit up with ravenous hunger. “Is that pancakes? I love pancakes!” He slid into his seat across from Dean and scooped a stack of pancakes, bacon and eggs onto his plate, drowning them in syrup. “Why are the pancakes all heart shaped and girly, mom?”  
   
Lisa forced a smile. “It’s Valentine’s Day, sweetheart. I wanted to do something nice for today.”  
   
Ben made a face, but ate his pancakes just the same. “Gross. I don’t wanna see you and Dean making out all day. Can I go over to my friend’s house?”  
   
“Of course, sweetie. Finish your breakfast and then you can go.”  
   
Ben ate his breakfast in record time, followed by some orange juice to wash it down. Then he ran upstairs to change.  
   
Lisa and Dean ate their pancakes in silence. When he’d finished his food, Dean rinsed his plate in the sink. Lisa appeared next to him with her plate. “This isn’t healthy, Dean. It’s been almost a year. You need help.”  
   
Dean set his plate in the dishwasher, every movement stiff and controlled, fighting the urge to lash out or break down. “I’m fine, Lisa. Just gonna work on some things in the garage, okay?” He kissed her before quickly heading off towards the garage with his coffee mug in hand.  
   
“Dean?” She called. He glanced back, eyebrows lifting. Lisa gathered up the rest of the dishes, not looking up as she replied, “Jen from down the street has been wanting to go out for coffee. I think I’ll go out shopping with her today. I’ll be back in time for dinner, okay?”  
   
“Yeah,” was all Dean could say before he hurried into the musty garage, shutting the door behind him. He set down his coffee on his workbench, and found his gaze drawn to the old Impala gathering dust under its tarp. He pulled the sheet carefully off the car and smiled fondly as he ran his palm over the hood. “Miss me, Baby?”  
   
Dean gathered up some tools and old rags, and opened up the hood of the beautiful car. She was in perfect running condition, but he would find something to tune up. Nothing could cheer him up like working on his car. He gazed over the engine and it’s parts, running a cloth over each piece to polish them up. Then, he wheeled himself underneath to inspect the bottom of the Impala.  
   
Before he knew it, he had lost himself in taking apart anything he could reach, and putting her back together, all shiny and clean. Once the components were assembled, he fetched a tub of wax and began to buff the paint to a gleaming shine.  
   
Standing back to inspect his work, he grinned and wiped the sweat from his brow with one of the filthy rags, then took a sip of his coffee. He sputtered and spat the mouthful of cold, bitter liquid into the trash. A quick glance at his watch told him he’d been working for hours into the late afternoon, which explained why his coffee had gone cold by now. “Oh well. Got some beer in the fridge waiting for me,” he grumbled low.  
   
On impulse, he strode around to the trunk of the car and popped her open, rummaging for anything he thought he might want since he’d last been in the car. What he did find were a lot of memories. A small stack of skin mags. A jumble of guns, knives, chains, and other implements for taking care of a variety of nasty beasts. His old leather jacket. A duffel bag full of some other clothes he didn’t wear anymore. Tucked way in the back, he found a dusty wooden trunk. He was just asking for trouble, pulling this old thing out.  
   
The big wooden trunk was filled with some precious possessions, and it was a Pandora’s Box of his past. Being Dean Winchester, he couldn’t resist opening it. He thumbed through his keys until he found one that fit in the lock, and slowly cracked it open. Bad idea, indeed.  
   
The bottom half of the trunk was covered in photos of himself and Sam together. Everywhere they went, Sam insisted on getting people to take pictures of them in front of tourist spots along the way. There was one in front of the huge redwood trees in California, and one in front of the largest ball of twine. There were pictures of them relaxing on the beach on the east and west coasts. Most treasured of all, were the candid photos of them relaxed and happy, arms around each other. He forgot who, but one of their friends had managed to snap a picture of them kissing. Sam’s face was flushed, and Dean was grinning in his usual perverted manner. They were both drunk at a bar, having dinner with some friends a couple years ago. Dean smoothed the edges of the photo and set it aside.  
   
In amongst the stacks of pictures were some other objects with heavy memories, including a bottle of champagne he’d meant to share with Sam this year on Valentine’s Day.  
   
Dean sighed and carefully closed the lid of the box, hefting it up with one arm while he shut the trunk of the Impala. He carried the box inside and upstairs to his study where he set it down on his computer desk. He pushed his laptop aside and cleared the desk of any other papers, then opened up the trunk again.  
   
Lifting the bottle of champagne, he carefully began to peel the foil and untwist the wire cage holding the cork. “Wish you could be here, Sammy. You would have enjoyed this bubbly girly stuff.” Holding the cork with an old t-shirt that had been draped over the back of the chair, he slowly wiggled it free. The champagne popped open and fizzed, and he quickly moved the bottle over the trash can to catch the overflow.  
   
Setting the t-shirt and cork aside, Dean lifted the bottle towards the heavens, then thought better of this, and held the bottle lower, his gaze on the floor. His Sammy wasn’t in heaven, and there was no God to help them. “To you, Sam. Happy Valentine’s Day.” Lifting the bottle, he took a long swig, trying not the cringe at the sweet taste and the bubbles tickling his throat. His chin quivered slightly as he tipped back another mouthful before setting the bottle down so he could dig through the memories.  
   
Dean carefully lifted out a small bundle of red roses, long dried out and dead. Last year, he’d given Sam a beautiful, expensive bouquet of roses. He’d left in the early morning before his brother had woken up, and when Sam had opened his eyes, Dean was perched on the edge of the bed with a cup of coffee in one hand and the roses in the other. Sam’s face had blossomed into a huge smile as he snatched up the flowers and breathed deeply of the soft scent. When the roses started to wilt, he’d picked out a few of the healthiest looking ones and hung them upside down to dry.  
   
A few years before that, Sam had surprised him in the evening when they were undressing for bed. Under his jeans, he had been wearing silky black thigh high stockings with ribbons on the front, and lacy black panties. To complete the look, Sam had shaved his body completely of hair except for that on his head. Dean groaned at the thought and took another drink of the champagne, pressing the heel of his palm against the crotch of his jeans. Sam’s skin had been so smooth, and the panties were so soft as Dean ran his fingers over the bulge straining underneath. Sam had squirmed and made such beautiful noises as the silky material rubbed against him, their bodies pressed tightly together. Dean couldn’t resist lifting the edge of those little black panties to slip his dick inside too, delighting in the feel of the lace and silk on his leaking erection. He almost lost it just from the feel of the silk and their skin touching. In the end, he’d shoved Sam over on his stomach and pulled the panties aside again, fucking him deep and hard until they were both exhausted and he’d made Sam cream his pretty panties multiple times. After they’d been washed, those same panties had been shoved into a corner of the box for safe keeping until next time.  
   
Dean was starting to feel the buzz from the champagne as he continued to dig through the trunk full of memories. He tipped back the last of it in one long swig and set the bottle down with a heavy thud. He sifted through the contents of the box until he found something that made him grin. In his late teens, Sam had begun his rebellious phase, and wanted nothing to do with girly, romantic crap. He claimed he was just embracing the fact that he’d never have nice clothes, and started ripping the knees of his jeans on purpose and trying to look tough like his big brother. Then one day he took Dean completely by surprise. Dean had almost forgotten what day it was, until Sam shoved a box of chocolate into his hands and stormed off without a word. Dean had had to cook a very nice dinner and dessert for Sam that night to make up for it, and soon enough Sam’s rough exterior softened until they were curled up on the couch with a movie. Dean had secretly kept the empty heart shaped box, photos and receipts from the times they’d gone out to dinner together as they got older, and eventually a condom wrapper from their first time being saved inside.  
   
In the very bottom of the trunk, a ratty old pink and red construction paper monstrosity lay covered in glitter. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes as Dean unearthed the card Sam had made for him when he was barely 6 or 7. A big piece of red paper had been folded in half, with a messily cut heart in pink pasted on the front. The entire thing had glue spread all over it, and glitter caked onto it. When their dad had picked them up from school that day, Sam was fidgeting in the seat next to him, also covered in glitter and glue and bits of paper. The moment they got back to the motel, he’d taken Dean’s hand and run off to the bed they shared and squirmed excitedly as he carefully pulled the card out of his backpack. “They said I should make a card for my mom,” He said softly as he held up the card, “but I put your name on it instead.” Dean took the card that was shoved at him, smiling as he hugged Sam with one arm while he opened it to read the inside. ‘Happy Valentines’ Day Dean’ was written neatly at the top, followed by ‘Love, Sammy’ at the bottom. Dean set the card aside to hug his brother properly, ruffling his hair. “Aww, that was really nice of you, Sam. Happy Valentine’s Day.” His little brother had just beamed up at him and clung to him.  
   
It wasn’t until his vision started to blur that Dean realized tears were streaking down his face. His head felt foggy with alcohol. All their lives, they’d been attached at the hip, and now Sam wasn’t here anymore. It was just him. Dean was trying to live a normal life, trying to fill it with normal things like work and a girlfriend and a family, things that would never fill the hole Sam had left behind.  
   
“Sam, I can’t do this without you.” He growled and shoved the empty bottle off the desk, where it crashed to the floor in pieces. “What the hell were you thinking, sacrificing yourself and leaving me here?!” His grief raged inside him, and he nearly shoved the trunk off the desk too, but paused at a photo on top of the pile. Sam was hugging him tightly, holding his arms down in a death grip of an embrace while kissing him on the cheek. Dean was doing his best to look grumpy and attempting to escape, but there was a mischievous glint in his eye. He was secretly loving it, loving every moment spent with his brother. Sam was grinning triumphantly. A sob hiccupped out of his throat.  
   
“Sammy, I hate Valentine’s Day.”  
   
\---  
   
Dean couldn’t remember when he’d passed out, but he faintly felt someone’s hand on his arm, lifting his shoulder from where he’d slumped over on his desk. Two strong arms lifted him from the desk chair and carried him down the hall. He sniffled and rubbed his face, curling into the man’s warm chest. A familiar scent made him smile. As he was laid down on his bed, he blinked slowly up at the tall form leaning over him. Hazel eyes crinkled at the corners, his brother’s mouth turning up in a smile. “It’s okay.  Rest, Dean.”  
   
Dean tried to sit up, but he was feeling a little dizzy still and let himself be guided back down to the pillows. “Sam? What’re you doing here? Am I dreaming?”  
   
Sam ran his fingers through his brother’s short hair and nodded. “Yeah, go back to sleep.” Then he leaned down and pressed his lips to the tired man's mouth. Dean quickly reached up and clung to Sam, wrapping his arms around his shoulders, unwilling to let him go. He felt so real, so warm, even smelled the same. Sam carefully disentangled himself except for a hand on Dean’s cheek. “Good night. And Happy Valentine’s Day.”  
   
Before Dean could complain and beg Sam to stay, Sam had tucked the blankets around him and disappeared.  
   
When Dean woke again late that night, it was to the sound of the bedroom door opening. Lisa poked her head in, about to announce that dinner was ready, but smiled and decided to let him rest. The door closed, and Dean rubbed his eyes, turning onto his side. He frowned and squinted at the bedside table. Next to the lamp, a card was propped up. He turned on the light and brought the card close. It was similar in style to the childhood card Sam had given him all those years ago, only much more artistic and carefully made. The message inside was the same, in Sam’s now neater handwriting. The card contained much less glitter, but sparkling bits still fell off as he set the card back on the night stand. Next to the card, lay a single red rose.  
   
Dean slowly pulled himself up into a sitting position, bringing the rose to him and breathing deeply. He clutched the rose to his chest more tightly, its thorns biting into his palm. This was a cruel joke, it had to be, but he never talked to anyone about Sam these days. And no one else knew about the card that Sam had given him when they were young.  
  
“Sam?”  
  
His practiced hunter’s eyes quickly assessed the dark room, but Sam wasn’t there. Just the dark walls, and a hint of a familiar scent. A tentative smile formed as he glanced down at the red rose.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Please leave comments :D


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